She paused to glance
up at him and he stopped right along with her. “Oh, it’s
you.”

That smarted. He
wasn’t sure what to think of her response.

“Yes, me. Dutch.”

Her full lips
twitched. “Dutch, right. Just like Arnold in Predator.” She
shook her head. “Something I can do for you?”

He’d seen Predator
once, after a member of the British SBS plied him with the
nickname. Shoving the memory back, he struggled with the
impulse to salute her for all the warmth in her tone. She
threw him. Most women fawned over his looks and would love
any attention he heaped upon them. He was after all, not
without manners, and let’s not forget, a Marine. An elite
warrior and here in this jungle, unique to the normal
flavors. This woman was different. He angled his body to
block her forward movement.

One arched brow—the
one with her rainbow titanium segment ring—rose as she
shoved her hands deep into her pockets and rocked back on
the heels of her black combat boots. She didn’t say a word,
just watched him.

“Care for some
company?” Did he sound desperate? Perhaps.

“You don’t even know
where I’m going.”

He blinked and
watched her. He wanted to touch her smooth dark skin and
follow the path he made with his fingers using his tongue.
He’d never met a woman before who smelled so pure. No
scented soaps or lotions. Just clean woman.

She unwrapped a toothpick and put it in her mouth. “This
some kind of joke with you and the rest of your team, Dutch?
See if you can get me into bed.”

He stepped closer admiring how she refused to back up, even
if she did have to tip her head to maintain eye contact.
“I’ve already had you in bed, engel.”